Fireworks
by RMC1
Summary: Of all the times John Winchester left his kids alone, the first time was the worst by far; July Fourth 1984. As the boys grow older, and more Independence days pass, will they be able to let go of the bad memories in favor of the good?
1. Chapter 1

**Fireworks**

If you knew the Winchester boys, you'd know that their childhood wasn't exactly a joy ride. They'd been orphaned as little kids when their mother died at the hands of a demon. Sure, their Dad was alive, but he never really made it out of that fire. Once he's gotten Sam and Dean out of the fire, he'd tried desperately to save Mary, but it was all for nothing. He still had the burn scars at his fingertips, from that night. It was the night in which his life went up in smoke.

Dean had known him before, and he was a different man. If you looked hard enough, you could still see the flames reflected in his hard, dark eyes. Sam hadn't known his father, not really.

He never knew the man who told bedtime stories, the man who's seen the Vietnam war and still believed in happy endings, the man who didn't believe in the monster under his bed.

That man, the man who was their father, he was dead. In his place was a hard hearted, cruel man. Dean would have traded anything to have him back, but he never got his wish.

Dean had seen the change before his eyes. He didn't understand then the ways in which grief changed a person, all he knew was that when he'd lost his mother, he'd lost his father too. Maybe that was why looking after Sam became so important, because he wanted t preserve what he had left of the way things used to be, and Sammy was the only thing left from that time. His father went from a vibrant, loving man, full of life and of love, to a numb revenge-driven shell.

He remembered very clearly the first time his father had come home drunk after the accident. Dean had been waiting for him to come home, and when he did, Dean ran into his arms.

"Get the hell off of me," John said, his words slurred. Dean startled back. He'd never heard John speak to anyone like this.

"Daddy…?" He asked cautiously, taking a step back, towards Sammy.

John gave him a glare that could have melted steel, "Go to bed kid, I don't need this," He stumbled, then picked up a bottle from the table beside him "I don't need any of this."

Dean just stood there.

"What did I just say?" He asked, raising his voice. John pointed to the door. "Go the _hell_ to bed."

He didn't like it when his father swore, but he followed instructions anyway. Instead of sleeping in his own bed, that night he slept with Sammy. He laid on his stomach, so he wouldn't have to look up. _Maybe, _he thought, _if I always listen to Daddy, he won't have to yell._

"I won't let him scare you Sammy," he promised, "not ever."

He hardly slept at all that night, but when he did, he dreamed of his Mom. When he woke up, his tears had soaked into Sammy's blanket.

John was too drunk to really remember the encounter, but Dean never really forgot. It wasn't the only one anyway. John came home drunk a lot more often than he did sober, and over time, Dean began to forget a time when this hadn't been true.

Dean remembered many first times. He remembered the first time his father had forgotten his birthday, the year he'd missed Christmas, and the first time his father had corrected him when he'd called him Daddy. From then on, he called him sir.

Of all of these memories, one stuck out to him the most over the years. Even though he would come home wasted, he always came home. At least there was that, if nothing else. Then there was the time he didn't, the one time of all of them which Dean could never forget. It was the first time, but it certainly wasn't the last.

The first time that he hadn't come home, it had been Fourth of July. They had been staying in a dumpy motel someplace in Ohio at the time, and had spent the day sitting around in the room while their father scoured the local library. It had been a good day, one of the better ones, a day when the loss had almost felt bearable. Then, once the boys had been asleep, John snuck out to finish a hunt.

Dean was sleeping alone for the first time in a while, and Sammy was sleeping soundly across the room.

Suddenly a sound erupted from outside. Dean jumped out of his skin while Sam startled and began to cry. "Mommy," He whimpered out of instinct. For a moment, he had forgotten that he no longer had one. As the cruel fates would have it, the first firework was a vibrant wildfire orange. The light rippled on the walls and Dean shivered in horror. His eyes shot up to the ceiling, expecting for his father to be there, but instead there was nothing.

"Daddy," He pleaded, looking across the room for any sign of his father. The clock read three forty five in the morning. A second firework erupted in the sky, white hot and massive, looking like a supernova in the sky. The beams of light exploded with the sound of gunshots, screaming like banshees as they fell from the clouds. Years later, he would think of this image as the entire heaven's contents angels fell to the earth. Sam wailed even louder from the other bed.

"Dad," Dean called louder. Desperation crept into his voice as his cries went unanswered. He shuffled quickly over to Sammy's bed, in an attempt. Dean wracked his brain for thoughts of his mother. Another firework went off, this time, it was a regal crimson. Dean flinched as it popped loudly. What would his mother have done?

His mind went immediately to his lullaby. Hey Jude by the Beatles. His mother had sung it to him every night before bed, and he decided then that he would try to do the same now, for Sammy.

His voice was shaky, and he didn't remember all of the words, but he kept singing anyway. He closed his eyes, wishing to hear his mother's voice instead of his own. It didn't come, and so he didn't stop. Sam's cries quieted slightly, and Dean stared out the window as the last of the firework exploded.

They really did sound like gunshots. Just a short while ago, Dean might not have been able to make that comparison. If his father knew, he would have been sad, but Dean never told him that. When his Dad was sad, he drank, and when he drank, he might get loud and scare Sammy. It scared him too, to be fair, but he decided that it didn't matter then. Sam was what mattered.

Once Sam had finally fallen asleep, Dean walked quietly across the room. He picked up his father's beat-up leather jacket from the seat of the battered old armchair on the other side of the room and brought it back to bed with him.

He lay down, tucking it around his and Sammy's shoulders. He was careful that the tears he cried then were silent, so that they wouldn't wake his brother. His voice cracked softly as he spoke one last time.

"Angels are watching over you," He said quietly, and for the first time in his life, he didn't quite believe it.


	2. Chapter 2

One of the last times they'd been to Bobby's house, they'd celebrated Independence Day. Bobby could tell that Dean was uncomfortable with the whole thing, and he figured it was just that the fireworks reminded him of what had happened to their mom. Bobby was smart enough to know not to bring that up around the boys, so he didn't press the issue. He was right, at least to some degree. Instead, he bought them sparklers.

At first Dean had been wary. He held Sammy close to his chest as Bobby lit the first one. A smile lit up Sam's face the second the sparks jumped from the metal gray stick. Dean reached out carefully and took the sparkler from Bobby's hand, careful not to put it too close to Sam, who was entranced by the light.

It took Dean some time to enjoy it, but eventually he got into it. After some convincing from Bobby, Sammy got his own sparkler. Sam waved it excitedly, making shapes from the light it emitted. Dean laughed and drew what looked like a butt. Bobby scolded him halfheartedly, which only made him laugh harder. Bobby wasn't sure he'd ever heard Dean laugh like that. He sounded like a kid.

"Watch this Sammy," He said excitedly, whirling the sparkler in a squiggly line. "It's an S for Sammy,"

"Wow," Said Sam, lowering his sparkler. He didn't even notice when his own went out. Bobby smiled and lit him another.

Sam furrowed his tiny brows, and drew something that resembled some kind of number, maybe 8. "B is for Dean," He said, beaming.

"No dummy, D is for Dean" His brother corrected.

Sam focused harder and drew what, this time, looked like the letter D, "D is for Dummy." He said matter-of-factly. Bobby burst into laughter. The kid was sassy for just four year old.

The night went on, and the fireflies came out. The boys had loved catching fireflies. They saw them all the time on the road, but they rarely got the chance to stop and catch them. Whenever they would ask, John would get this faraway look in his eyes and shake his head. Dean had learned to stop asking after a while, but Sam never really gave up on it.

Some nights, when John stayed out to late drinking, Dean would take Sam out to the parking lot of whatever no-tell-motel they'd been staying at and catch a few. Whenever he did, he'd always be careful to make sure his dad didn't catch them. John didn't seem to like it when they did things like that.

Sam cupped the flies in his chubby toddler hands and watch as tiny beams of light escaped from the creases between his fingers. Bobby went inside to get some ball Jars so that they could keep them for the night. Sam made sure that he would remember to poke holes in the tops so that they could breathe. Apparently dean had made that mistake before. Sam sure was one smart kid for his age.

Dean caught fourteen bugs in total, and Sam caught six. Dean snuck a few of his into Sammy's jar, so that it would be just a little bit brighter. Bobby noticed this and he smiled.

After the fireflies disappeared, Bobby cut the boy's each a fat slice of cherry pie, and watched them as they happily devoured it. His neighbor had given it to him a while back, and he had no intentions of finishing it himself. Once Sam had finished his piece, Dean paused before willingly offering to let Sam finish his.

"Hold your horses kid," Bobby said, pulling the tin back out of the fridge. "I've got plenty." He knew that pie was Dean's favorite, so he'd known to come prepared.

Between the two of them, Sam and dean polished off half of a pie. Both went to sleep that night with a smile on their faces. Bobby regretted not having kids of his own, but every now and then with the Winchester boys, he felt almost like he did. They were good kids.

That was the best memory that they had of the fourth for years. The morning after, their Dad had come to pick them up from Bobby's. The fireflies crawled lazily around their Jars, forgotten for the time being.

Sam ran up to hug his Dad, but Dean just stood there. The holiday had put the memories fresh I his mind again. He could still remember that Fourth of July a few years back, hear the boom of the fireworks intertwined with baby Sammy's cries, and fell the lonely ache in his chest. He didn't want to go with his Dad.

"Mr. Singer," Dean whined quietly.

"Call me Bobby, kid," He said gruffly, before he noticed the distressed look on his face. Bobby leaned over to talk to dean, "What is it?"

He let a single tear fall from his eye, before wiping it quickly with his sleeve so his dad didn't see, "I don't want to go."

Bobby smiled a bit. "Sorry kid, not much I can do about that," He said. Dean nodded solemnly before stealing a glance at his brother from across the room. Bobby motioned to the jar of bugs on the counter, "Let's go let those little buggers loose before you hit the road. What do you say?" Dean grinned and grabbed the jar.

They set the bugs free and watches as they fluttered off into the salvage yard.

"How's about this, Dean," Bobby said, "I'll keep my eye's out for the little guy's, and next time I see 'm, I'll send them your way."

"Yeah," Dean replied "That would be nice."

That night, as the Winchesters glided off to their new destination, he could hear the lat of the fireworks booming just out of his view. Instead of looking for them, he just held Sammy a bit closer and counted the fireflies. He didn't know which ones were the same, if any of them, but he liked to think that they were.


	3. Chapter 3

As The Winchester brothers grew older, they had less and less time for anything that wasn't getting them closer to finding the thing that killed their mother. Dean learned to shoot a gun at the age of six, and Sammy learned at eight. Dean was more than eager to help his dad at first. Over time, his job became a part of who he was.

Keep Sam safe.

Do as your father says.

These things became second nature to him. He watched as Sammy got older, getting smarter as the years flew by. Dean was proud of him. He knew that Sam wanted more than a hunter's life, and Dean shared his dream. No, Dean didn't want out, he wanted out for his brother. That was all he had resigned himself to a life of hunting years ago. He knew that he wasn't smart enough to get out, he'd lived the life too long. Sam could though, and Dean knew that he would be able to.

Still, Dean was sad that Sam had been forced into the life at all. He hadn't asked for it, neither of them had. He was a bright kid, so much promise, so much potential. Dean wished he had that kind of future ahead of him, but even then he knew that he'd die with a gun in his hand. It was a hero's death, but a lonely one nonetheless.

Dean knew to savor his time with Sam while he still had any. Their father figured that the two of them were just like him, no hopes, and no dreams of their own. John saw nothing but his own revenge driven endgame, he had no time for anything else. The reason he and Sam had never gotten along (or so Dean thought) was because John didn't know a damn thing about him, nor did he care to. He didn't know that Sam was a straight A student, or that even though he'd only just started middle school, Sam was stocking up on college pamphlets. One of them would be his ticket out of this busted life, and Dean only wished that he could join him. John didn't know, or care about colleges. He hadn't gone and he didn't expect his boys to either.

Sammy really was a smart kid. He was smart enough to know when Dean stole his father's booze, and why. He was smart enough to know why he didn't come home the nights when he did too. Their father had come home drunk one too many times, and Dean couldn't do that to Sam. He didn't know that despite his efforts, Sam could still put two and two together. It didn't take a genius to deduce, at least not when he stumbled home the morning after with no less than a liquor store on his breath.

One thing that Sam couldn't quite understand was that even though Dean got drunk every now and then, why he did it on the fourth of July. He could understand when he did it on the day their mother died, or her birthday, that was a given, but why the fourth?

Sam knew that it was coming up soon, school had ended a few weeks prior. He wanted to give his older brother a good Independence day for once, one that he wouldn't feel the need to wash down with stolen whiskey.

A few days before, John left home to check up on a lead he had gotten some place in Nebraska. The boys were staying in a cheap motel just outside of Denver, and it looked like they'd have the place to themselves for a while.

Sam pooled what little money he had so that he could by a pie or something for Dean. That always seemed to cheer himup. He always took a buck or two from the funds when his Dad left and saved it for things like this. One year, He'd convinced Dean to light a bunch of candles for their mother's birthday. The night was ruined when he asked Dean what she looked like. To be honest, Dean could barely remember, himself. Instead, he brought out a picture of the two of them.

"She looks like that," He'd said. That was one of the nights when Dean didn't come home, and neither did John.

Sam forced his mind away from the topic.

Maybe they could go to a firework show; he had heard that there were some pretty good ones in the city. While Dean was out buying (or stealing, he didn't ask anymore) some food for the week ahead, Sam worked up the courage to ask.

Dean came through the door and Sam rallied his confidence. Dean st down a couple bags on the scuffed wooden table.

Sam cleared his throat, "Fourth of July is in a couple days, Dean."

His brother looked up, "So?" He asked.

"So," Sam continued, "We should go and see some fireworks this year. Or, maybe we could buy some sparklers like that one time at Bobby's"

"You remember that?" Dean asked.

"Of course I do." Sam said eagerly. A smile Crossed Dean's lips, "It was awesome."

"Yeah," Dean said. His smile widened momentarily, "I'll see what I can do."

Dean looked at the money left on the table. There wasn't much, maybe twenty bucks, and they still had a couple of Days until their dad would be home. Maybe he could get them a box of sparklers, but he knew that they couldn't afford much else. It looked like he'd have to skip a meal or two to get it done, but that wasn't anything he hadn't done before.

Two days passed, and it was Independence Day again.

While Dean was out, Sam snuck away to buy a couple slices of pie from the local diner. They were fresh out. He checked his watch, Dean would be home soon.

Sam walked swiftly down to the corner store a couple blocks down. There they had a prepackaged cherry pie for only five bucks. He bought the pie, and used the remainder of the money for a pack of off-brand sparklers. He got home just in time, hiding the pie and sparklers under his bed to surprise Dean with later.

When Dean did get back, he came empty handed. Sam frowned. He hated to admit it, but he'd expected something. With his sneaker, he nudged the pie a bit further under his bed.

"Hey Sammy," He said with a grin.

"What?" He asked carefully. Dean really did look excited; he had that grin on his face. It was giddy, almost childish. Sam smiled back, it was infectious.

"We're going to go see a firework show." He said.

"Seriously?" Sam asked.

"Hell yeah!" Dean replied, "Get your coat Sammy, it's almost dark."

Sam nodded, then stopped. "Wait, I got you something."

Sam pulled out the things hed been stashing beneath his bed frame. He gave Dean the pie first. Dean's face lit up like a Christmas tree. The pie was cherry, his favorite.

"Wow," Said Dean, "This is awesome."

"Wait, that's not all," Sam said, pulling the sparklers out from where he'd stashed them, "I got these too."

"Like Bobby's?" Dean asked.

"Just like Bobby's." Sam said proudly.

"They're perfect." Sam nodded coyly at Dean's response. "I mean it, Sammy. This is perfect." That night, they ate all but a couple bites of the pie, in which they had stuck the sparklers like birthday candles, and they both agreed it really was perfect.

Sam grinned and picked the burnt out sparklers off of the table, motioning to Dean, "Let's go see the real deal."

They both climbed into the Impala and drove for a good half hour, with each mile getting further and further from the city. Sam felt confused. If they were going to go see a firework show, why were they all the way out here, in the middle of nowhere?

He asked Dean, but he just smiled, telling Sam to wait and see. After a minute, Sam started to catch on. They weren't going to a firework show, they were doing something better.

He looked in the back seat of the Impala. Sam did a double take Sitting on the cool black leather was an arsenal of fireworks of all shapes and sizes, though most of them looked nonsensically gigantic. Sam's brown eyes widened to the size of dinner plates, and he stared up at his brother in disbelief.

Dean laughed, "We're making our own firework show tonight, Sammy."

"Where did you get the money for all those?" Sam asked in amazement. He could barely afford the box of sparklers, let alone _all _of that.

"I figured that stealing isn't illegal if the fireworks are." Dean shrugged. He had a point.

What happened then would be the first memory Dean Saw in heaven. Fourth of July 1996. It was heaven on earth, and Dean would know. He'd seen hell. That first fourth of July, all of those years ago, that was it, plain and simple.

Hell, Dean thought, was no more than a hyped synonym for the word alone. That Independence Day was heaven because he learned that no matter how bad things got, he'd never really be alone. Sam would never let that happen. He vowed then that he wouldn't either.

They pulled up along the side of the road. Sam Jumped up to grab the fireworks immediately. Dean laughed and the cool air turned his breath to steam. Turns out, those fireworks were illegal for a reason.

The night was fantastic, and by the end of it, the field was stained black by the catching embers of the fireworks. The owner of the field wouldn't be too happy to see it, but Dean honestly didn't give a crap. He was here, Sam was here, and life couldn't have been better.

Their father would never have let them do this, but that made it even better. Actually, they both agreed that was the best thing about it. For just a snapshot of time, they got to be kids again.


End file.
